


Walking Backwards

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Hurt, Scene Expansion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-20 23:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: Bridget needs to walk away but there’s an unstoppable strength preventing her.3x07 kitchen scene expansion.
Relationships: Franky Doyle & Bridget Westfall, Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 14
Kudos: 71





	Walking Backwards

**Author's Note:**

> This fic serves as a sort of scene expension/rewrite of the kitchen scene from ‘The Long Game.’

“What are you afraid of?”

Well, that was the thing, wasn’t it? Bridget was not timid, and she certainly was not inexperienced in dealing with practically anything drawn out in the books in this field. Situations were practically nonexistent because she’d juggled back and forth in studying solutions and preventions from minor to major in all her adult life. Bridget dealt with things quickly and efficiently. She did not scare easily, even in the face of Ferguson’s menaces and manifestations of obvious manipulation. The wave was high in this profession, but Bridget had ensured she was doing everything to ride it smoothly.

And yet despite all that, here she was now. Her arms folded to keep them from trembling. Her eyes wavering from Franky’s virescent eyes to her pale lips. Fighting and internally squirming to not cave into desperate temptation.

And it was absolutely harrowing knowing that having done anything and everything possible in all her career to not become emotionally vulnerable in any circumstances, it still somehow lead to this. Her lips dry, her throat tight and the wall around her trembling with definite sign of collapse.

If it was attraction and only attraction, then this whole thing would be a breezy walk in the park. That’s what it was, at first. The odd blush does not account to travelling home a pilot of treaded guilt and indiscretions of forbidden thoughts.

So if it wasn’t just attraction then what was it?

Love? An odd balance between the two?

Bridget’s chest ached as she noticed the look in Franky’s eye grow weary.

Love was an entirely different ballpark that absolutely no amount of training, practice, study and professionalism Bridget had mastered was no match for.

In fact it was pointedly simple. Her armour had become worn and rusted. She was stripped bare of any form of defence and the entire map she thought she had constructed out in her head was erased because for once in Bridget’s life, she was deserted and lost.

Yet it seemed, much to Bridget’s guess, that Franky was too.

She swallowed and inhaled – deep. “Franky…” She started, her voice too weak to carry any precaution or ounce of sternness.

“Bridget,” Franky said back, and though just as vulnerable, there was a noticeable pinch of cheek to her tone.

Bridget looked down, forlorn, because it was painful and hurting. She didn’t want to be the subject of pain, but she had no intent to cause it, either.

“You know what I’m afraid of. We can’t do this.” Though it hurt, she looked at Franky dead-on and pleaded for any form of understanding. The woman was far from an idiot yet to make matters worse, she just seemed to deflect the statement with a skeptic look like a stubborn child. Why did she have to make this so difficult?

Franky’s nose twitched and tiny smile met her lips. Another method of defence she tended to use. If you’re displaying pain, hide it.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” the woman countered. She said it like no grey area existed. As if the whole situation was as white as the bandana tied around her head. “Cause I’m done with goodbyes, Gidget.” Her voice cracked with pain and that was the biggest blow to Bridget’s chest. “I’ve used em all up.” Tearing her glassy eyes away from the blonde, Franky looked down at the kitchen’s cookery resources that were yet to be put away. “I know what you’re gonna say and I think it’s bullshit. You’re weak as piss if trot away now.” There was a steadily growing bite and accusation to her voice that caused a wince in Bridget. It was biased and an unfair dice to throw but it was to be expected. This was how Franky defended herself from pain. She had not learned another way around it since childhood.

“You know it isn’t as simple as that. How would we even make it work?”

Franky looked up at her in momentary contemplation. If ever there were a million-dollar question to be asked, that indeed would be it. Even still –

“You’re overthinking it,” Franky said, stepping backwards to continue with her chores. She needed distraction because if she didn’t commence with something, the possibility of her breaking down would skyrocket.

“How?” Bridget asked, eyes blurry and burning. She silently begged Franky to answer because she needed to know. As a psychologist, she knew many things that didn’t account to everything. One woman’s answer might mean nothing to her but the answer to the right question…

She could more or less see the cogs in Franky’s head whirring. The woman stepped closer and Bridget nearly flinched. Her breath was running short now.

“No one has to know,” Franky said.

“People do know, Franky.”

“Oh, really, do they?” The woman snapped. “Well they know a hell of a lot more than me then, that’s for sure.”

Puzzled, Bridget waited for elaboration. “What are you saying?”

Franky leaned back against the counter and swiped the back of her nose. “So, what? In one day you cut off my sessions, blank me, then come in here to tell me ya wanna fuck me. And now you’re saying we’ve got to go back to square one because you’re scared of what? Fucking rumours?”

“It’s not about the rumours.”

“Then what is it?” Franky insisted. A flair of anger and impatience transmitted across her features. “Because I’m fed up of people dancing around their bullshit about me like I’m on a merry-fucking-go-round. You’ve said your bit now that’s it? We don’t even look at each other in the corridors? Yeah well fuck you. You’re full of shit and I’m not fucking falling for it.”

Crushed and a little aghast, Bridget brought a hand to cover her eyes. She felt pathetic, puny, and nowhere near as strong as she believed she was walking into this. She’d gone about this all backwards and to only end up causing more grief and misery than her body could withstand. She had to get out. That was her best bet right now and she’d rather a dozen inmates and staff witness the prison’s psychologist a blubbering mess than to remain here looking like a fool. She’d tread the water at first but now she was drowning in it.

Of course, Bridget didn’t notice Franky’s brows furrow, or her sharp jaw slacken, or even the sorrow-filled look of contrition that immediately formed in her eyes.

“No, wait!” Franky pleaded, gently grasping Bridget by the elbow to prevent her from leaving. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, don’t go.” Franky was split by her own self-guilt and complexity. “I…” She began again; her face teeming with need for acceptance. Bridget looked hesitant but she allowed the woman to explain. “It’s just I never meant it to go like this, Gidget.” Franky put her hands down at her sides and reached the psychologist’s gaze – emerald meeting aqua.

“I just thought another fucking head-shirk and that’s it. A few months and it’d be over with and with any fucking luck I’d get my parole but then you got me to trust ya. And as if that wasn’t enough, you did it again. When I told you about…What I did, I thought I was fucked.” Franky shrugged, eyes watering. “And I thought, know what, maybe that’s alright. It’s what I deserve. But then you kept it a secret for me and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I dunno how I’m ever supposed to repay you for that.”

Franky dropped her gaze and licked her lip. “So I just thought I’d carry on, ya know. Roll with it to see if there was some catch but there wasn’t. And then I started to feel guilty about thinking that about ya. See, cause I know now, Bridget. I know you care about me and that doesn’t fucking happen often. People don’t just stick around if they have a choice. So when you told me our sessions were cancelled and brushed me off, I got pissed because I thought you’d see all that.”

She paused a beat, letting all this knowledge sink into the other woman. Then, after one long, shaky breath; heart thudding in her ears and palms sweating, Franky continued. “Because you have to know I’m in love with you, Bridget?”

Franky finally let the truth in its entirety out into the air and waited for the boulder-weight of the world sitting on her shoulder to lift. It remained when she could not translate a reading from Bridget’s face and the sinking feeling in her gut flooded with dread and regret. Had she overstepped the mark? Her mind raced with worry and she braced herself for more rejection. Not that she could say she would be surprised by it. “Cause if you don’t see that, then I reckon you’re probably a pretty shit psychologist,” she added, a melancholy chuckle following a failed suppression. Her smile vanished just like her ability to look right though Bridget to obtain her thoughts. Despite the active lace of fear uncoiling within her, she did her best to appear steady and patient, waiting for Bridget’s answer. She might have even waited forever.

In that time, Bridget was speechless and tried desperately to muster a coherent response. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. Her breath was robbed, and her heart pounded dangerously fast against her ribcage. Until –

“Kiss me,” Bridget breathed out in a murmur so quiet that for a millisecond, Franky thought her ears just played a wicked trick on her. She searched for the smallest implication of restraint or unsurety in Bridget’s countenance and did not find it. “Please,” the woman said; her voice as delicate as silk in a the wind.  
  
After making a quick observance of the workstation around her, Franky then tugged Bridget by the hand and led her to the walk-in. The gate rattled behind them as Franky directed the woman’s back against the thin metal bars and inched closer to her form. Adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream after what had felt like an eon to get here. She moved slow and with precaution; not wanting to rush the moment by releasing her caged arousal. Franky raised one hand above Bridget’s head and gripped rickety walk-in gate, while the other carefully slid around the psychologist’s waist. She tilted her head at a lower angle and leaned in to close the space between them.

It began slow, then passionate, and Bridget tried to make sense of it all in that one fast, whirring moment. All she could think, feel and taste was the heat of Franky lips, the scent of her skin, the way her breath panted when Bridget brought her hands to cup her face and pull her body in closer. And yes, anybody could walk right into the scene unfolding at any given moment and then it would all be over. Everything Bridget’s ever achieved. Everything Franky was working towards, ripped from their very grasp with no stopping it. And would that be worth it? Probably not. In the correct state of mind, that was what Bridget was sure she would think. But right now – probably, yes.

They broke apart for oxygen but not for long. Watching Franky’s mein become utterly strewn with desperation, Bridget wasted no time snaking her arms around the woman’s neck to pull her in again. Her lips were rough, yet soft. A perfect balance between delicacy and fervour.

Her breathing laboured and quite possibly trembling, Franky brought her head to rest against Bridget’s. They remained quiet and content for a short while, absorbing in the feel of their bodies pressed so tightly together and the feel of their hearts thudding beneath their skin. Bridget felt Franky’s mouth twist into a smile against her. A smile that no doubt had been craved by unworldly beings that worked to create an art piece.

“I lied,” Bridget mumbled against Franky’s heavy chest.

“Mm?”

“When you asked before if I was in love with you. I said no. I am.”

Slightly stunned, Franky pulled back to look at Bridget and broke into a broad smile. Her cheeks flushed with redness as a blossoming feeling spread through her stomach. “Yeah I know,” she said. “I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

With Bridget now spent after a tornado of emotions, she flopped her back against the walk-in whilst a smile tugged the corners of her lips.

“I still have to cancel our sessions though.” She said, with regret. Franky processed it and nodded. She could live with that, so long as she knew the truth. “I’ll still write up my recommendation. I’ll still be at your hearing.”

“And then?”

“And then…” Bridget contemplated. She formed no words but it was a smile that made her response. Franky grinned in return and relaxed her posture. Any prior frustrations were diminished and for once in her life, patience was something she felt she could endure.

After straightening out her jacket and preparing herself for departure, Bridget followed Franky out from the walk-in. She felt shaky and exhilarated yet free and released all at once.

The two shared nothing but benign smiles and last lingering looks before the sound of Bridget’s heels took her in a direction away from the room. Franky stole a glance at the woman, allowing her eyes to appreciate everything from her typical sunny-like disposition, to every other finer detail that Franky just simply could not wait to seek out. “Hey,” she called out, stopping Bridget. The woman turned around to face the inmate. Franky’s heart pounded in her ears. This foreign feeling was something she was sure she stood no chance of ever understanding. And maybe she was completely okay with that.

“You’re fucking hot,” she smirked.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about any typos/errors. I wrote this on my phone at 1am because I’m a loser that can’t sleep, lmao.


End file.
